


Glass

by Starlitzombi



Series: Reddit Writing Prompts [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, going crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlitzombi/pseuds/Starlitzombi
Summary: Based on a Reddit prompt. Inquisitor Lavellan goes mad.





	Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Dragon Age Subreddit weekly writing prompts. This story is kind of a mix of the two.
> 
> Prompt 1: Crawling, shaky breaths, knife, glass breaking  
> Prompt 2: DAI Based- Write out what your Inquisitor's gravestone and their reaction to it- is it Spiders, or something else?

Valowen sat against her bed, a thousand little prickly hairs bristling against calloused fingertips, the furs smelled familiar. Closing eyes, in the forest, crying from dusk till dawn into the side of a halla, the herd crying with her. Crawling into the shadows of the pen, blood staining her tiny frame and their silvery coats. Warm orange stabbing at the dark blues in the sky, banishing the stars. Blaze hot even from the distance. That night was her nightmare.

Shaky breaths, she begged to keep her lungs inflating, the sound of blue on the back of her tongue. Furs cascaded like a river to the ground bunching up under the woman's body, back straight and supported against the rug covered stone. Shaky breaths suffocated by the bottle coughing out the sweet intoxicating…

Cold clammy fingers pulled the bottle back, some sloshed about and globs of it smacked at her neck and chest, the blankets and rugs, sticky red. “What am I drinking?” She moved her other hand to play in her hair and for a minute she could feel the rough texture, the dirt and grease that caked up after weeks on the road. Laughter erupted from her chest though she did not feel joy. “Silly, you have no hand.” Turning her head there was the docted stub carefully wrapped. Her hair was black and clean except for the strip of white that had tricked its way into the tressels, an echo of the powers she played with.

“Only the finest Fereldan wine.” Dorian said from the couch sitting all poised and presentable, unlike her. “Which means it’s dog piss.” The couch was empty save for the ever growing pile of drained bottles. He was right about the dog piss thing, the alcohol was nasty. The bottle shattered against the wall, assaulting it with red splatter. “Fereldan beer is alright though.” One arm struggled to keep her up on her hand and knees, the ghost of the other tried but threw off her balance, it wasn’t really there just like Dorian.

“What troubles you Vhenan?” Solas asked, the Inquisitor had been floating through the keep all afternoon, aimless, focus shot, somehow she made her way out to the garden where the older elf was collecting for some sort of concoction. Did she reply? He lead her to the gazebo, a quiet corner. The cool breeze stung at her bare fingers and toes, Solas adjusted the shawl tighter around her. Tears clouded around Solas, he became blurry, in that moment it became real, realer than her. “M-my clan…” Her voice was getting quieter, shoulders shaking. He embraced her and she drowned in the warmth, supported and suffocated. “I shouldn’t have trusted the shems.” Sobs chocked her words, crying hysterically. He carried her to her room, stayed with her.

Valowen crawled across the room, reaching for another bottle. Glass shards bedding themselves in her knees and hand, a hundred little red hot knifes. Blood smeared across the bottle she grabbed as it slipped from her grasp, warm and wet, glass shattered against the stones, spraying her clothes with a fluorescent blue glow. It hummed a quiet song. There was a steel knife on the desk, she drifted onto the floor, glass cutting into her side, she moved the steel around to hear it shine. The blood sang to her as it always did, a pulse of magic, dripping down onto her face and into her mouth, the taste of it etched into her for the rest of her life, cheek resting in a blue puddle. Bugged eyes staring at her face, frozen ice knife spilling a warm song, a large lifeless body, mother to one side partly devoured by spiders. The blood boiled and writhed around in the air catching fire on the wood of the aravel. Standing outside she watched taller elves rush to put the fire out, she had been so small, covered in blood and bruises. The air as hot and dry as the fire that painted the night sky, a demon whispered in her ear, it could help her forget… She drove it off, no not her, someone darker and stronger.

Bareface stared after balancing, swaying with the rhythm of the alcohol. Mirrors in the room reached from floor to well over her head showing the carnage that was her hurricane. Books, papers, glass, blankets, rugs nothing was safe. Torn asunder, ruined. As ruined as her body and mind, as ruined as the room.

“Here lies Valowen   
Died like her mother  
At the hands of her lover”

“That’s not going to happen Lucky.” Varric inspected the gravestone with her, tears smudged the words, dried blood coating the stone like moss. “Demons just trying to fuck with your head.” The nickname was the most ironic. The Fear demon laughed at all of them, made its jabs, it taunted her saying the Dread Wolf had caught her scent and she was doomed. Funny how things play out.

“You have to write the ending. Let me know if you need help making it a good one,” The dwarf was sitting in the cushioned chair next to the fireplace, a book in hand, eyes peering out from over the pages. It took a lot of misplaced steps to drag her body over to the fireplace, the cool winds rolling off the mountain tops, crawling through the open doors, eking their way into the room to bother her. Hand reached out to steady against the door frame, only there was no hand on her left side so a shoulder crashed into the sturdy stone instead. “My ending...” she contemplated.

“If you like, I can make them forget.” Cole offered around the campfire. “It would make things better if you sang. He loved your singing, they will too.” The spirit insisted. Valowen sang but she did not ask to make them forget. The Dalish lullaby raising up to the stars. After that she wasn’t afraid to sing. Cole joined her, first when the song needed another voice. The young man, spirit turned human, began to instigate the songs, learning to weave the thoughts from people's heads into lyrics. It made the endless trips enjoyable, where the roads use to be silent. Their voices growing strong, belting out the feelings others would not speak. Songs built on the emotions of hundreds could easily hide her hurts within the meanings, a way to grief all she’s lost without giving away her heart. It made Cole more human, another way to help those who hurt. “The only thing in I did in my life worth a damn. Kind. So kind. Maker watch over my little girl. Creators protect my little girl. He died happy you were singing. You're so bright when you sing.” That wound was an old one, no longer upfront with the pain, the thought brought her a small joy that swelled in trying times.

Dissolving the Inquisition had been the only option. The alternative was to be absorbed by religion, if she had to suffer the Chant of Light one more time she would pull the eyes out of the chanters head and eat them. Leliana was still easy to talk to, even though she lead the Chantry now. The search for the Dread Wolf was largely lead by her and her spies. It was a relief to not be the one the faithful looked to, the one to calm their fears, lead them through the dark. The two had tea regularly, plotting together, sharing secrets, fashion and gossip. It was an unspoken rule that anytime the Herald visited the chanters were to remain quiet.

There was stirring from the bed, she turned back and The Iron Bull sat, completely naked, watching her devoid of traceable emotions. “Hey Boss, you alright?” Shortly after the Council the tavern was loud with laughter, singing, dancing and revelry. They won against the Qunari, why shouldn’t they celebrate? Bull could see past her smiley mask, see the pain in her, he followed to her room, drinks in hand. He was off in the coast or somewhere equally dismal, leading the Chargers with a sureness she admired. No, she was not alright. After all she had never seen The Iron Bull naked, he spent his nights with Dorian and she spent hers with nameless faces. He had one time given her a neck massage so good it sent her mind into a heated flurry of inappropriate thoughts. 

In the Fade shattered, twisted and corrupt, demons didn’t bother her here, just a lone wolf, watching from afar. Night after night the wolf was out of reach, haunting. The taste of green filled her, skin felt dark and smelled gray. Reflecting she watched herself every night, no wolf sitting behind the girl in the mirror as it did behind her. It wasn’t a mirror anymore, it was a cage, the girl who shared her face had a bright and beautiful glow, she was good, she was pure, weak. Her voice filling in the gaps.

Blackened arms reached out and touched the glass as the bright heart cried. It was safer. She didn’t want to be trapped. Black lips laid a cold kiss on the cage leaving behind a tortured scorched mark. The bright elf sang, the song of Suledin, enduring personal loss. Crystal, stone and metal walls shot up between light and dark, stabbing at the sky, the ground between them inhaled, expanding for miles as a labyrinth wove into existence around the pure heart. Trapping the beautiful spirit as much as protecting it. There was endless space between her and the wolf, between her and the cage.The darker elf stood and turned to the wolf, he looked concerned and sad.

Cold air filled her lungs and she could finally breath. No weight in her chest. Fingertips trailed over the frozen railings on the balcony, the sun caressing the mountaintops deliciously. Back in the room everything was in order, steady feet took her to the mirror. A wedding dress was a stark contrast to her scorched insides, eyes distant, nothing left. Hands grasped her shoulders and Josie was there to help with makeup and the final touches. Valowen was lead down to the carriage, the trip to Val Royeaux was uneventful, boring, and oh so very stretched out. Thoughts kept the worst company.

The wolf stopped visiting her dreams. Was he lost in the labyrinth? Did she hide? It didn’t matter. Demons came at her, easy enough to devour, tasty power and need. Need for envy, lust, desire, pride. They were so delicious. Fractured spirit becoming fat as her plate filled. The texture of green saturating up through her teeth, tingling at her bareface. Songs reached across the fade to keep her company at night.

Gaspard took a specific type of notice towards the Inquisitor during her first visit to the Winter Palace. The first steps into a brand new world completely unfamiliar and deadly. Overall he was not a completely unpleasant man, though his opinions different than her own, and he held a distaste for the (then) current state of affairs with the mages and the elves. Matters which were close to the Dalish Mage’s heart. Her handingly of the situations, and her growing reputation within the court perhaps played a part in his soften outlook on the issues. A chance to infuriate the players of the game and those who held the highest ranks was a delicious opportunity. 

The Emperor greedily took her in his arms and pledged something to the Maker, she mirrored his words and devoted her future to him. Divine Victoria officiating the union. That night she let loose an arrow into the sky as the man laid in the grand bed, completely satisfied with himself. Not a real arrow, it would be impossible to draw a bow with only one arm, just a little thought. Warm and loving words spoken to a despised husband. How soon was too soon to kill? Much left to learn about The Game.


End file.
